


It's a Hard Life

by captain_nicnac



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 55 years of pining as mortals is also, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Use, F/F, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Lesbian Anathema Device, M/M, Pretty Bad, an original character dies, but it's not a human au, but there are no sex scenes. sorry, idk if that counts as major character death, idk man I live in seattle and I didn't care enough to think about it more than that, if you thought 6000 years of pining as immortals was bad, it's rated mature because of ONE chapter where we BARELY talk about a dick, they live in seattle beacuse, they're humans, they're just real bad at being people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-12-27 22:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21126182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_nicnac/pseuds/captain_nicnac
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley turn themselves human in order to hide from Heaven and Hell, but things don’t go as planned. In fact, they go horribly, terribly wrong.Cue 55 years of mortal life





	1. The Plan

**Author's Note:**

> This fic assumes Aziraphale and Crowley are a bit more divorced from their bodies than canon would suggest. 
> 
> If any other details diverge from canon it's probably an accident, I am not detail oriented. 
> 
> I don't know English slang! Sorry! It'll be bad!
> 
> I think it’s stupid that Anathema is “18-20” so in this fic she’s the age of her actress, which is 27.
> 
> If you really like Newt, you probably won’t like this fic—he isn’t in it much.

It was the evening after the ol’ switcharoo and Crowley was on edge. Meeting in the park, going to the Ritz, following Aziraphale home… all these had distracted him for a while. But even the warm, gentle atmosphere of his favorite angel’s bookshop wasn’t enough to relax him. Without consciously realizing it he began pacing the floor restlessly, constantly glancing out the window at the fading light and growing darkness.

He was so tense that Aziraphale was beginning to notice. Normally Crowley would pester Aziraphale endlessly, but he had managed to get through an entire chapter without pause. And the  _ pacing.  _ At first Aziraphale chalked it up to Crowley’s typical serpentine circling, but he was becoming more and more agitated as time went on. 

“My  _ dear  _ boy,” Aziraphale finally said with a sigh, putting his book down, “Will you  _ please  _ stop wearing a groove in my hardwood and tell me what’s the matter.”

Crowley stopped in his tracks and ran his hands through his hair. For a moment he was hesitant to speak his mind. Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe there was nothing to worry about.

Then again, two heads were better than one. He was done with doing things alone. 

“They’re gonna figure out about our little trick eventually,” Crowley said, “And even if they don’t, they’ll still work out another way to destroy us. This isn’t over, not by a long shot. We’re still in danger.”

“Maybe they really will just leave us alone,” Aziraphale offered hopefully, “As promised.”

“No,” Crowley insisted, “No, I’m sure of it. We’ve got to… go away. Somewhere.”

Aziraphale frowned doubtfully.

“Where would we possibly go?” he asked.

Crowley gestured vaguely outward and upward.

“Alpha Centauri still awaits,” Crowley replied.

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale argued, “You said it yourself, there very well might be a war against humanity. We might not have  _ much  _ of a chance against heaven and hell if they decide to destroy humanity, but we’re the only chance the humans have got.”

“It—you—eh—no, you’re right, you’re right,” Crowley said, head in his hands, “But we’ve got to think of something. We’ve got to hide.”

“Well, I’m not sure what we can do about it,” Aziraphale sighed, “Demons have a way of finding demons, and angels have a way of finding angels.”

“That is a pesky reality, isn’t it,” Crowley muttered, “We’re walking homing signals. Inconvenient, s’what that is.”

“Well, can’t change our nature,” Aziraphale said, “We’ll just have to face them head on when it happens. It’ll all work out in the end.”

Aziraphale picked up his book again and seemed to consider that the end of the conversation, but Crowley was still mulling over Aziraphale’s words. 

“Our  _ nature _ ,” Crowley murmured, “Well why not?”

“What was that?”

“Why not change our nature?” Crowley said, “We’ve already done it.”

“Well, that wasn’t exactly changing our nature, we were just  _ pretending  _ we had.”

“No, no, not that,” Crowley said, “I mean… over the course of these six thousand years. We’re not the same as we were, are we? We’re not the same as we were in the garden. We’ve become more… well, human.”

Aziraphale turned away from Crowley for a moment, puzzled, before gasping and turning back to him. 

“ _ Surely  _ you’re not suggesting—”

“Finding an angel and a demon is easy. But finding two humans, in this great big world?”

“I’m not arguing with  _ that,  _ but how could we possibly accomplish it? You don’t seem to have thought this through, Crowley.”

“Angel, we know a  _ witch,  _ not to mention the actual literal  _ Antichrist. _ ”

At that, Aziraphale paused, frowning. 

“It could work,” Crowley insisted, pulling his sunglasses off and looking right into Aziraphale’s eyes, “You’d be--I mean… we’d be safe.”

“But we don’t know how to  _ be _ humans. There are so many… complicated bits we don’t understand. It could never work.”

Crowley had his doubts as well. But when he imagined what the other angels might do to Aziraphale if they were found… He  _ might _ be able to learn how to be a human, but he didn’t think he could ever learn to live without...

“We’ve got to try,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale looked Crowley right into his golden eyes. His mouth was parted slightly as he tried to figure out what to say. Eventually he allowed a nervous smile.

“Why not? Let’s do it.”

~

“Are you  _ sure  _ about this?”

Anathema was resting her elbows on the coffee table across from Crowley and Aziraphale, staring at them intently, while Newt stood around awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself. Adam was a bit distracted by various books and trinkets lying around. 

“Well, we can’t think of anything else to do,” Aziraphale replied, “We’ve already packed and arranged to make our way across the pond. But we don’t think it’ll be enough. There are angels and demons all over the world.”

“Sss’the only way we can’t be tracked,” Crowley added.

Anathema glanced at Newt, who winced, and Adam simply shrugged. She sighed.

“Being a human is… difficult,” Anathema said, “Not to mention dangerous. If you die, you’re gone  _ forever. _ Humans live less than a hundred years, that’s got to be like… a blip to you.”

Truthfully, Crowley hadn’t really thought of that, but before he could say anything Aziraphale piped up. 

“It’ll buy us a bit of time to think of something else,” Aziraphale said.

“I seriously doubt Aziraphale will be able to abstain from his constant use of miracles, which won’t help him blend in,” Crowley added. 

“Sometimes I’d just like to cut my hair without going to a barbershop,” Aziraphale said defensively, “Or warm up my cocoa.”

“Well, it’s far outside my capabilities,” Anathema said, “Adam, do you think you could manage it?”

“I think so,” Adam replied with a shrug, “It’s harder to do... things, than it was before. But this seems simple. Just… turn you into humans.”

“Do you think you can turn us back?” Aziraphale asked.

Adam frowned. 

“Sounds tricky. I don’t know much about angels, or demons. But I’m sure I’ll figure it out,” he said, “Are you ready?”

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other.

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale whispered.

“It certainly could go all pear-shaped.”

Aziraphale grinned. 

“I like pears.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but his exasperation wasn’t convincing. 

“We’re ready,” Aziraphale said finally. 

“You should make them young,” Anathema suggested, “In their twenties. To give them more time. It’ll make it easier, they’ll have stronger bodies.”

Adam nodded and closed his eyes. After a moment, there was a bit of a glow and a whoosh, but the whole ordeal was pretty anticlimactic. There was a prolonged silence as everyone seemed to wonder if anything had really happened. They were definitely  _ younger,  _ but were they…?

“Uhp!” Crowley exclaimed after a moment, “Shnngsk. It’s, I’m, it’s… yeah, this is… different.”

He stretched his limbs around as if moving them for the first time, scowling all the while.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale agreed, “I do feel rather… odd.”

He was about to babble on, but was distracted by Crowley, who had stilled a little but still seemed greatly irritated. He’d removed his glasses and was blinking dramatically. He looked… wrong, somehow. Crowley put his forehead in his palms, and when he looked up again Aziraphale gasped.

“Crowley, your… your eyes.”

Crowley peered up at him with his golden eyes. Except… they weren’t his eyes at all. There was the same color, but only in the normal, round iris. With a normal, round pupil. 

“What is it?” Crowley asked, a hint of apprehension in his eyes.

“They’re… normal,” Anathema said. 

Crowley’s new eyes drifted until they found their reflection in a nearby picture frame. He stared for a long while. He thought maybe he should be pleased, appreciative, nostalgic. Instead he felt… well, he tried his best not to feel what he was feeling. 

“He did it,” Aziraphale said, stealing back Crowley’s gaze with his voice, “We’re human.”


	2. Rest (One Day)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive in their new home and like. Chill I guess. 
> 
> *whispers* o my god they were roommates...

Not only were they human, they were _ people _—that is, legal entities named Anthony J Crowley and Ezra Fell, each aged twenty-five.

It was these humans, Anthony J Crowley and Ezra Fell, that landed late one evening at Sea-Tac airport. Beside them was Anathema, who seemed inexplicably eager to leave London behind (“Just for a bit!” she had assured Newt) to help the two of them out when she found there was still an extra seat on their flight. 

The weather in Seattle wasn’t terribly alien to them. There was a fine mist hanging over the busy airport, a bit more than fog and a little less than rain. Crowley thought it was rather dismal, and wondered why Aziraphale always opted for such _ grey _locales; Aziraphale breathed it in and cherished the inexplicable tenderness of water-laden air on his skin. 

“Not too different from home, is it?” Anathema said, as if reading both their minds, “Is that why you chose Seattle?” 

“Not really,” Aziraphale said, “I just haven’t been in the Pacific Northwest since… well, since long before it was called the Pacific Northwest, before this country even existed… No, since the United States became a country. I have been on the East coast, when the… you know, the colonizing, and the… anyway, I’ve been to the East, and the South, and was even out in California for part of the Gold Rush. But not this far north. I just thought it might-” 

“Let’s get a taxi,” Crowley interrupted, impatient. 

After a day of traveling, standing outside in the fresh air was surely a welcome relief; but not as much as the certainty of a roof over their heads. 

“Ah, yeah, I’ll call a Lyft,” Anathema said, pulling out her phone. 

When the Lyft arrived they piled themselves and their suitcases into the car. Aziraphale sat in the front, leaving Crowley and Anathema in the back. 

“You from, eh, England or something?” the driver said. 

“Why, yes, we’re from London_ , _” Aziraphale replied. 

“On vacation?”

“We’re on a bit of a… an extended holiday, yes.” 

He and the driver chatted pleasantly throughout the drive while Anathema texted her family and Crowley gazed silently out the window. Crowley had visited this continent, and the U.S. in particular, _ far _more often than Aziraphale. And yet lately he had grown so accustomed to his little slice of the world in London that the unfamiliar skyline, however beautiful, made him uneasy. 

The driver dropped them off downtown, where they would find their new apartment and the belongings they had sent ahead of them. 

Crowley had brought a mister and his favorite plant. It was a little one, one of the ones who had developed a spot while he was too busy with the Apocalypse to engage in his usual theatrics. He claimed that he brought it because it was the only one that could fit in this apartment, and that no fondness was involved. Aziraphale called it Little Crowley, Crowley Junior, or sometimes Wily One. 

Aziraphale brought a few books. _ Crowley’s _ idea of a few. He had tried to bring his _ own _idea of a few, but apparently fifty books was “too many” and “couldn’t physically fit in the apartment”. So he brought six of his favorites and one he was determined to get Crowley to read at some point. 

Anathema had given them various charms and spell jars to protect them from dangers both natural and supernatural. She had also helped out with some of the things they had neglected to think to get; turns out, the ability to miracle just about anything had given them very little ability to plan ahead for what they would actually need. She went ahead and got them cell phones, a handful of spare clothes, a table and chairs, and an old mattress from Craigslist. 

Anathema had an AirBnB she would be staying in, but stopped with them at their apartment to help with their bags. The three of them stood around the mostly empty studio, glancing around at the off-white walls. 

“Well, it’s not five stars,” Aziraphale said, “But I’m sure it’ll feel like home in no time.” 

Crowley’s face twisted in a scowl and Aziraphale responded with a disapproving glare. 

“I’m sure it will,” Anathema agreed,“Sorry about the bed. It’s what I could get here at such short notice. We’ll look at more furniture this week.”

Crowley began pacing the room idly, though there wasn’t really anywhere to go, so he resorted to draping himself dramatically against a wall. 

“Before I go,” Anathema continued, holding out a notebook, “I wrote down some things I think you might need to know. I don’t know _ too _ much about angels, but these are some of the inconvenient things about being a human that I figure you might forget about. If your… you know... _ body _ feels weird, or something happens that you don’t understand, check this notebook first, then call me.” 

“Oh, _ thank _you dear,” Aziraphale said with a smile. 

He reached out for it but Crowley jumped up and snatched it first, and began flipping through the pages casually. 

“Anathema, you’ve been _ incredibly _helpful,” Aziraphale gushed.

“It’s the least I can do for the men who helped save the world,” she replied. 

“We’ll pay you back,” Aziraphale said, “Thank you so very much.” 

“Don’t mention it. I’ll head out now,” Anathema replied, “Call me if you need anything.” 

Anathema made her way slowly to the door, trying not to show any sign that she was dubious as to their chances of success. 

As soon as she closed the door, Crowley collapsed dramatically into the nearest chair. After so many hours of scheming and traveling, Aziraphale and Crowley were finally alone. 

“Glad that’s over,” Crowley groaned, wriggling around in quite a bit before finding a comfortably splayed position. 

“You were _ hardly _ hospitable to dear Anathema,” Aziraphale scolded. 

“S’your job.” 

“We’re both human now,” Aziraphale said, “But I _ suppose _I’ll still be the nice one and you the mean one.” 

“Oh, give it a rest, angel,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. 

Aziraphale scowled and began poking around their possessions and finding places for them. Crowley followed close behind, taking every opportunity to peer over his shoulder. 

“Oh, this will be _ fun, _ ” Aziraphale said, clearly trying desperately to convince himself, “New lives, new home. It’s like… what’s it called… it’s like we’re in the _ witness protection program. _” 

“Have you been watching American TV again?” 

“You _ told _ me to stop reading books and start watching television. It’ll help me acclimate to the _ culture. _ Anyway, London actually does have such a program, only it’s called… oh what is it… witness protection _ service, _or some such thing.”

Crowley sneered but Aziraphale ignored him, electing instead to continue rambling. 

“I haven’t been to the United States in a _ very _ long time. Not since the war, the… what was it. The Civil War. Not very civil, was it? They really shouldn’t call them that, it’s like calling it a Friendly War, and War is never friendly. They should call it an… Internal War. No, that’s rubbish, but something like that. I was up in the north, of course, but you know that _ . _ Anyway, I only really _ know _ about modern America from television. Maybe it’s about time I lived here awhile, it being a _ global superpower _and all.” 

Crowley paced around him, and Aziraphale got dizzy trying to keep track of where he was standing. 

“My dear boy, are you going to help?” Aziraphale demanded. 

“I’m _ supervising, _angel,” Crowley answered. 

Aziraphale would never admit it, but even Crowley just standing there made it all far easier than it could have been. Crowley did begin to help, though mostly he just put things in funny places until Aziraphale crowned him the King of Inconveniences. 

“Funny, that’s what my buddies in hell called me too,” Crowley muttered as they were almost through, “It _ started _ as a compliment…” 

Crowley found a spot up against the wall again, this time gazing out their only window out into the alleyway. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whined suddenly, patting himself down, “I think there’s something wrong with this body. It isn’t working very well and it’s only been a day and it’s already, well, _ sluggish _ and everything’s just a bit too _ difficult, _and I-” 

He cut himself off with a yawn, and Crowley chuckled. 

“That’s because you need to sleep, Angel,” he said before yawning himself, holding up Anathema’s notebook, “First thing on the list, darling.” 

“Ah. Yes. Sleep.”

“I’ll show you how it’s done.” 

Crowley stripped to a black t-shirt and black boxers before flopping dramatically onto the questionable mattress and curled himself into one of the blankets that Adam had graciously given them. In fact, each of the Them had donated a blanket or pillow from their home as a going away present. It was the only thing Adam could organize last minute, other than all the money in their piggy banks, which Crowley had outright refused.

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley, fidgeting awkwardly. 

“Should we take shifts?” Aziraphale suggested. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Crowley said, voice muffled by his pillow, “We’re safe, the door’s locked, it’s night time.” 

“No, I meant… there doesn’t seem to be much space. On the bed, I mean.” 

Crowley turned to Aziraphale, resting his cheek on the pillow. Aziraphale was once again startled by his new set of human eyes, so familiar and yet so startlingly different. 

“You’ll just have to deal with it, angel,” he hummed sleepily, “I’m not going to infect you with my evil demon powers. I’m just a human now, as you so _ kindly _ pointed out.” 

This isn’t what Aziraphale had had in mind, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what he _ had _in mind, so he let it rest. He folded his clothes neatly and placed them on the floor before turning out the light and carefully lowering himself onto the mattress. 

“That’s not so bad, is it?” Crowley murmured. 

Aziraphale hummed. 

“Now if you have any trouble, I have some tips and tricks,” Crowley said, “An uptight bastard like you may have a hard time relaxing.” 

No sound came from the lump of blankets beside him. 

“Aziraphale?” 

The only response was a snore; Aziraphale had already fallen asleep. Crowley smiled softly at him. Sure enough, his eyes were shut tight, blanket up to his nose, eyelashes fluttering. Aziraphale really had just melted into a puddle of unconsciousness right away. 

Crowley, on the other hand, had a difficult time releasing tension from his newly foreign limbs. Humans are so fragile, he thought. So many things could go wrong in their lives. He worried that perhaps this was a terrible idea. When had he ever done anything right before? But he decided, at least for tonight, he was going to pretend it was all going to be okay. 

There wasn’t much else he _ could _ do. 

Crowley reveled in the weight of his eyelids, the weakness of his limbs, the spastic turnings of his mind, until he too fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The UK's witness protection program is called Protected Persons Service (UKPPS) which is something I didn't need to know but now I know and so do you.


	3. Hunger (Two Days)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they... eat food? don't worry y'all it picks up I promise

Aziraphale, first to sleep, was also first to wake. He was incredibly disoriented. The more he woke, the more scattered details of he recalled, the more confused he was. Further frustrating him was the feeling that he _ craved _something… there was some itch in him that he couldn’t work out. 

When he saw Crowley sleeping beside him everything in him relaxed. Not that anything had begun to remotely make sense; he was still too groggy to work out what was happening. But his anxiety eased, and he figured he was safe. Crowley wouldn’t allow himself to be so vulnerable if that wasn’t the case. 

Taking in the details of Crowley’s sleeping form, Aziraphale’s thoughts finally coalesced. Memories of the past few days arranged themselves in an order he could understand. Along the curve of Crowley’s slumbering back, Aziraphale remembered Crowley’s anxious proposition. In the blankets twisted around Crowley’s legs, Aziraphale remembered the sensation of becoming human. In the wayward clumps of Crowley’s hair, he remembered scrambling to pull together the necessities of human life. 

And when he leaned over Crowley to see his face, he remembered the glances of reassurance they had shared throughout the process, the inviting warmth of the bed they shared, and the immediate sense of peace he felt resting beside his once hereditary enemy. 

Crowley was curled tightly into a ball, but his face was completely relaxed. This wasn’t exactly an _ unheard of _phenomenon, but one that Aziraphale was still getting used to. Six thousand years of faces, expressions, and emotions, but peace was not a commonly recurring character. Aziraphale could finally understand why Crowley was so fond of sleeping; if this was the only way to banish the lines of worry and pain from his forehead, cheeks, eyes—well, he could see the appeal. 

Crowley’s eyebrows twitched, and suddenly he didn’t look so peaceful. His lips trembled, then parted as if to cry out. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said urgently before he could stop himself. 

Crowley’s eyes shot open and Aziraphale was distracted by the strangeness of them. Or, really, the _ normalness _of them. Crowley’s gaze darted around the room before falling on Aziraphale with a start. 

“Azrfl…” Crowley mumbled an approximation of the angel’s name, blinking dramatically. 

“Sorry,” Aziraphale said softly, leaning away, quite embarrassed, “You seemed… distressed.” 

“Oh, sksdtch, I… I think I was dreaming,” Crowley said as he sat up, “Ne’er had a dream before.” 

Aziraphale pondered this for a moment. 

“You know, I think I had a dream as well,” Aziraphale said, “We were trying to find the Antichrist, but it turned out that _ Gabriel _ was the Antichrist all along, which it utter _ nonsense _ of course but in the moment it made sense? There was a plot, a _ conspiracy, _up in Heaven. So we had to go undercover, and you had to pretend to be an angel, and infiltrate Heaven. We lived there, but the place we lived looked like this flat actually, and...” 

Crowley gave him a gentle glance that suggested he was beginning to ramble, so Aziraphale stopped with an apologetic smile. But he was contemplating stopping anyway—at the end of dream Crowley had left him to perform some daring escapade, and… kissed him on his way out the door. He omitted this part, thinking that perhaps the last bit would make Crowley feel a bit scandalized. 

“Well, what did _ you _dream about?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley’s eyes fell to the side, and his eyebrows and mouth gathered in a wince. 

“Ah… Mm, I dreamt of _ falling… _” 

Crowley raised his eyebrows again and shrugged, all casual, pouting only his typical amount, but Aziraphale wasn’t quite convinced by his nonchalance. If he had thought of anything to say he would have, but he didn’t, so he simply watched as Crowley stood up and paced around the apartment. 

“Don’t feel good,” he said, “Feel bad. Hem.” 

Crowley flicked on the light, and then scowled. 

“Stop flickering,” he said, pointing at it. 

He went to the kitchen sink. 

“Stop dripping.” 

He went towards the bathroom. Aziraphale scrambled up and followed him, reaching out a hand as if to comfort him, but thinking better of it. Crowley stood at the mirror, gazing at himself for a moment. 

“Stop.... doing whatever you’re doing wrong,” he hissed at himself. 

He slumped, and Aziraphale tried to work out what was wrong. 

“This was a bad idea,” Crowley said. 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, trying to sound as perky as he could manage, “We’re just not used to it yet.” 

Crowley was silent. 

“Come on, Crowley! Buck up!” Aziraphale said, trying his best to imitate the tone he had taken those many centuries ago at the Globe. 

Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale with a sort of smirk. Then he looked back at himself in the mirror and ran his tongue on the roof of his mouth. 

“Mouth tastes weird,” he said, “What does the book say about that.” 

Aziraphale found Anathema’s notebook and there, right underneath “sleep”, was the solution

“Ah. Of course. Brushing our teeth. Ah, Crowley, look, she left instructions. And she got us toothbrushes. That girl is so _ thorough. _Eminently practical.” 

Aziraphale discovered a distaste for tap water, and Crowley discovered his gag reflex. They both decided that, while the end result was satisfying, the process was not an enjoyable one. 

“Hrm. Still feel bad. Head fuzzy. Pain in the… what are these… guts…” 

Neither the angel nor the demon had taken much effort to learn anything about human anatomy. 

“I’ll check the notebook,” Aziraphale offered. 

As he said so, Crowley sauntered to the table where his plant sat, still scowling. 

“_You, _” Crowley said, “You’re the greatest disappointment of all. Stop moping. If we had a goddamned garbage disposal you’d be dead already.” 

“Don’t listen to him, Wily One, he just has a bit of a temper.” 

“_Shut it. _”

“Perhaps I’ll add irritability to the list of symptoms,” Aziraphale muttered. 

“Hm?” 

“Nothing, dear boy” Aziraphale said kindly, before continuing, “Ah! _ Hungry. _I bet you’re hungry. So far she’s written everything in order of what we’re experiencing.” 

Crowley frowned. 

“You think she inherited some of old Nutter’s powers?” Crowley suggested. 

“It’s a perfectly logical order in which to write things, my dear,” Aziraphale said, “But more _ importantly, _we have to find food. This is exciting! To eat food as a human!” 

“I’m ecstatic,” Crowley replied flatly. 

They put on the same clothes they wore the previous day (Aziraphale complained about how difficult it was to put on his suit, but was not emotionally ready to wear anything else) and went to the nearest pizza joint. 

~ 

By the time they arrived Crowley was _ particularly _grumpy. 

“I will _kill _someone if we can’t eat soon,” he said, baring his teeth in his best approximation of a demonic snarl. 

“Be quiet_ , _” Aziraphale said, “We’re here.” 

Crowley let Aziraphale order for them at the front counter while he scanned the room. It was an odd time of day for pizza, and the place was small to begin with, so there were only a handful of people there. An old man reading a newspaper, a student with headphones typing away diligently, a mother and her kids chattering sweetly. Humans doing human things. 

It was the type of place where they had pre-made pieces they could order from. There were three different types available, and Aziraphale had _ such _a hard time making decisions, so he chose two of each. 

“Let’s sit at the window,” Aziraphale suggested, balancing two plates and grinning brightly. 

When they sat Crowley took up a piece of pizza, making a great show of examining it, bringing it up to his nose for a sniff before taking a bite. Upon doing so, he simply shrugged. Aziraphale took a bite of each and described in detail what he liked about each, and there was a lot he liked. Eventually he became hungry enough that he stopped talking and ate for a bit in silence.

“You know, Crowley,” Aziraphale said after finishing off his second slice, “There’s so much we can experience now that we’ve never experienced before.” 

“Like what?” Crowley said, “You’ve already made a habit of enjoying human things.” 

“That’s true…” Aziraphale said. 

He looked back down at his plate. What _ was _ it he wanted so desperately to do, that he hadn’t done already? He looked back up at Crowley, human Crowley, disheveled hair and wrinkled shirt and a half-murderous expression, and felt incredibly tender. Aziraphale had spent much of his six thousand years relatively alone, having so many experiences. But the things he thought of as true _ experiences, _moments of his life that made him who he was… it was the ones he shared with Crowley. 

He supposed there wasn’t much more he wanted to do than he had already done, but he was looking forward to doing whatever it was they would do, together. 

“What is it?” 

Crowley’s voice broke Aziraphale from his train of thought and he simply smiled, looking down at Crowley’s remaining half-eaten piece of pizza.

“Are you going to finish that, my dear?” he said. 

Crowley waved at it dismissively, and Aziraphale took it for himself. 

~ 

“That was _ incredible! _ ” Aziraphale said as they approached their apartment building on the way back, “I was never really a fan of pizza, but eating it in a human body was _ transcendant. _” 

“I guess it was better than eating as a demon,” Crowley said, holding the door open for Aziraphale, “But we really should have just eaten out of the fridge. Our money won’t last forever like it used to… why didn’t we just make ourselves billionaires?…” 

“You’re right,” Aziraphale sighed, “I got a bit carried away.”

“Shocker,” Crowley said as they trudged up the stairs. 

“I was just so excited at the prospect of eating as a _ human, _” Aziraphale said, “Anyway, it’s not like you said anything to stop me. You’re an enabler.” 

Crowley gasped at the accusation, pretending to be quite offended. 

“Me? A demon? Enabling naughty behavior?”

“You’re _ human _.” 

“Old habits die hard,” Crowley responded with a smirk, letting them into their apartment. 

“Either way, money _ is _a problem,” Aziraphale said “You think Anathema wrote anything about that in her book?” 

“If she did, I’m pretty sure it would just say ‘get a fucking job’,” Crowley replied. 

Aziraphale went to the notebook anyway and looked at the bottom of the page, which read: _ Get a fucking job!!! _

Crowley grinned and gestured dramatically 

“Now, is she the prophetess, or am I?”


	4. Work (Two Weeks)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They gotta get jobs. That sucks.

Anathema and Crowley were sitting together on the bed, looking intently at their laptops, while Aziraphale was doing the same on a nearby chair. 

“This is much harder than I thought,” Aziraphale said fretfully. 

“Well neither of you have a college education,” Anathema said, “Or any experience.”

“Well, not that we can mention, anyway,” Aziraphale said. 

“‘Stopped the apocalypse’,” Crowley said, “‘Thwarted Satan himself.’ ‘Fooled Heaven and Hell.’”

Aziraphale laughed and Crowley found himself with a genuine smile on his face. He had thought it would take Aziraphale a long while to be able to laugh about Armageddon. Even with the body swap, they had laughed at it in the moment, but there was always something troubled in Aziraphale’s eyes.

But now he was smiling, and Crowley was smiling, and things were maybe okay. 

“Oh!” Anathema exclaimed suddenly, “There’s an opening at a little nursery! No experience required. It’s very close by. Crowley, aren’t you good with plants?” 

“Well—“

“He _ yells _at them,” Aziraphale cut in, “Can you imagine, Crowley lecturing the various flowers as he sold them?”

“I’d make a wonderful florist!” 

“My dear, perhaps I should apply for that one,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley frowned, miffed. 

“Fine,” he said, “Don’t want to deal with idiots and their idiot flowers anyway.” 

“What about a book store?” Anathema suggested, “Wouldn’t that suit you, Aziraphale? That might work.” 

“Did you ever actually go to his shop?” Crowley said, “Hardly sold a single thing. He’d get fired day one, and if he didn’t he’d spend his entire paycheck at his own damned workplace.” 

“For you then, Crowley?” Anathema said. 

Crowley didn’t dignify that with a response. 

“Coffee shop,” he said, “Perfect. I can mess up people’s orders, give them a real bad day.”

“But what if they have allergies, it could kill them!” Aziraphale interjected. 

“Yeah, that’s a perk.” 

“Crowley, you’re not—“ 

“_You’re not a demon anymore, Crowley, _” Crowley mimicked, “It was a joke, angel. I’m not gonna kill anyone.” 

Aziraphale pursed his lips doubtfully. 

“... not on the job, anyway,” Crowley said conspiratorially to Anathema, punctuating the statement with a wink. 

~ 

Crowley got the job at the coffee shop, and Aziraphale at the florist. A day or so later, Anathema bid them farewell. 

“I’m going to do some research,” she said to them before she left, “See if we can figure out a… more long-term plan than this.” 

“Yes, dear, wonderful,” Aziraphale said, “Keep in touch.” 

And just like that they were on their own. 

~ 

“Do I look alright?” Aziraphale asked Crowley. 

It was to be his first day of work, two weeks since moving in, and he had only just gotten used to the idea of wearing clothes other than his three-piece suit. He had stopped wearing it for two reasons: one, it was dirty, and he was too lazy to clean it; and two, even if it were clean, he was too lazy to put it on every morning. 

This flower shop where he worked had a uniform, and that uniform was a tshirt. He had never worn one before and felt terribly exposed, and it showed in the way he fidgeted with the bottom hem. 

“As silly as ever,” Crowley said, who was wearing a polo that he hated even more than Aziraphale hated his tshirt. 

“I feel like a child.”

“You look like a grandfather.” 

“_Crowley _,” Aziraphale whined, “I’m being serious.” 

So Crowley regarded him seriously. He hadn’t really noticed before, but Aziraphale definitely looked much younger_ . _His eyes just a little wider, his hair a bit brighter, his jaw slightly rounded, the laugh lines of his face mostly erased. 

The shirt was ill-fitting. A little big. He hadn’t quite figured out how to tend to his hair, a fact made more dramatic by the early morning light sliding through the blinds and illuminating stray locks. The resulting halo made it hard to remember that the man before him was no longer an angel… 

“You look fine, angel,” he said, “You don’t even start working until the afternoon.” 

“Well, you know how long it takes me to get used to things.” 

“Oh, I remember,” Crowley said, “If six thousand years was too fast, six hours isn’t gonna do anything for you.” 

Crowley expected Aziraphale to scoff but instead he blushed. Crowley didn’t really know what to do with that, so he hastily moved on. 

“I’ve got to go,” he said, “Coffee waits for no man.”

Aziraphale’s mind wandered to the dream he had the first night. It felt like a memory—no, an expectation. Crowley stood right in front of him, and that moment of the dream played in his mind over and over, and he tried to remind himself it was a fiction. But then Crowley was looking at him funny, and he scrambled to rejoin the conversation. 

“Oh. Right. Have fun. Or, be safe. Or, rather, good luck.”

Crowley rolled his eyes.

“I’m going to work, not on holiday,” he said, heading to the door, “I’ll see you tonight, Mr. Fell.”

“See you!” he said, and then after the door had closed, “…Anthony.”

The name felt wrong on his lips.

~ 

Crowley sauntered into the coffee shop and was immediately greeted by a friendly barista. 

“You must be Anthony!” 

Crowley started, glancing up to see a bubbly young woman emerging from behind the counter. She was very soft, with no edges to her. Curls hung heavy over her forehead and her eyes were dark and deep. She skipped towards him and held out her hand. 

“I’m Holly,” she said. 

Crowley put his hand in hers hesitantly, and received an incredibly energetic handshake. With each passing day he grew more and more confused as to how some humans could have _ so _much energy.

“‘Ello,” Crowley said. 

He tried to say it with as little enthusiasm as possible so as to deter any further attempts at friendly communication, but this was apparently lost on her.

“Welcome to the team,” she said, beaming, “Can I call you Tony?” 

“_No. _” 

Unfortunately, this response was drowned out by a crash and a shout. 

“_Holly _! Where are you?” 

“Tony’s here, Denice,” Holly replied, and Crowley winced. 

A different woman, tall and severe, emerged from a back room. 

“Mr. Crowley?” she said. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, hoping that would become his primary form of address. 

“Put your sunglasses and any other possessions in the back. We’re opening soon.” 

“Right away, madam,” he said with the most dramatic deference he could muster. 

Denice huffed and returned to the back room and Holly smiled apologetically.

“Don’t mind her, she’s not that… well, you’ll get used to her,” Holly said. 

“Seems like a perfectly lovely woman.” 

“I’ll show you where to put your things, if you’d like,” Holly offered, and Crowley followed her to the back room to a handful of cubbies. 

“This one’s wide open,” she said. 

Crowley placed his wallet, keys, phone, and (hesitantly) his glasses. 

“Huh!” Holly said, “You have very pretty eyes! Now, why don’t you finish wiping down those tables for me so we can open up shop.” 

She smiled at him in a way that made him think of Aziraphale, and he suddenly felt very very lonely. 

~ 

Aziraphale had been giddy all day. He has been surrounded by flowers and shrubs and people who loved them. He had thought it would be the same as running the book shop, but he supposed it was much easier to sell possessions you’re willing to part with. He had delighted in showing customers where they could find the things they were looking for. And the customers had been equally delighted by him, often commenting on his silly accent and young face and bright smile. He hadn’t felt this good about himself in a very long time. 

So when he finally showed up at the apartment an hour late and disgruntled, it was _ not _how he had planned himself arriving home. 

Crowley was splayed out on the mattress, staring intently at his phone, but when Aziraphale stepped in he leapt to his feet. He sped to Aziraphale and then stopped abruptly right in front of him like he hadn’t planned on what to do when he got there. Crowley was seething with rage. 

“Where were you?” he demanded. 

“I got _ lost, _” Aziraphale said. 

“You didn’t respond to my texts,” Crowley hissed. 

“My phone _ died!” _ Aziraphale said, holding it up, “How do you think I got _ lost _?” 

Crowley gritted his teeth and snatched the cell phone from his hand. 

“Next time don’t be an _ idiot _and keep it charged!” 

Crowley took it to the other side of the room and plugged in the phone. He took in a deep, frustrated breath. Aziraphale came up beside him. 

“I’m sorry to have worried you, my dear.” 

Crowley wanted to yell. He also wanted to say he hadn’t _ been _worried. He also wanted to apologize for overreacting. But he said none of those things. 

“How was work?” Aziraphale asked hopefully. 

Crowley flopped down into a chair and Aziraphale sat beside him. 

“Dreadful,” Crowley said, “Boring. Dull. There’s this woman, with her awful face, and then this girl, she’s alright, but the _ people, _eugh. All day, so many of them. Can’t go anywhere, stuck in one spot.”

“Surely you’ve had jobs before,” Aziraphale taunted, hoping to lighten the mood, but Crowley didn’t much appreciate it. 

“Well of _ course, _ but it’s not the same when you can just miracle everything, is it? Or when you can up and leave at any moment? It’s no fun when you _ have _to be there.” 

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, chin resting on his hands, glasses long gone, eyes wide and sad. Aziraphale knew that Crowley had missed him while he was gone, but certainly wouldn’t dare put it to words. 

“S’been one bloody day,” Crowley said, “Why is this so hard? After _ one _blasted day?”

Aziraphale sighed. 

“We’ll find a way to make it work.” 

~

Crowley stood in the back room unpacking boxes in his ridiculous polo and absurd black apron. The shop had just opened, and there were no customers yet, but it was only a matter of time. He hadn’t gotten the best night’s sleep and the half hour he had been working felt like ten hours. 

He heard the door open and shut and decided he should see if Holly needed any help. She could probably handle one customer on her own, but he desperately needed an excuse to change tasks. He placed the last granola bar in its shelf and went to investigate. 

“I’ll have… well, so many options_ , _ aren’t there? What would _ you _suggest, my dear?” 

Crowley suppressed a grin. There Aziraphale was, in a t-shirt and cardigan, clutching a book, right in his very own coffee shop. 

“Don’t humor him, Holly,” Crowley said, “He’s just going to order a small cocoa.” 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed with a grin, as if he were surprised, or at least genuinely happy, to see him, neither of which seemed plausible to Crowley. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Crowley said, trying his very best to sound bored. 

“Do you two know each other?” 

“Well, of course,” Crowley said, “Can’t you tell, we’re both from London. Everyone in London knows one another.” 

“Oh, Crowley, don’t be silly.” 

“I’ll get that started for you, Mr. Fell,” Crowley said. 

“Why thank you, Mr. Crowley,” Aziraphale said before turning to Holly and continuing, “As much as it pains me to admit, he is absolutely right. One small hot chocolate for me, please… Holly, is it? What a _ lovely _name.” 

“Aw, thank you sir. Anything else for you?” 

“That’ll be all for me.” 

After paying, Aziraphale stood patiently by the bar waiting for Crowley to finish making his drink. When Crowley slid it over, he frowned. 

“Are you quite sure this is a small? It seems rather large to me.” 

“Oops. Silly me,” Crowley replied with a grin, “Leave it to a demon to get the order wrong.” 

Aziraphale scowled disapprovingly, but took the drink anyway and went off to sit at a table.

“You’re welcome, angel!” Crowley shouted after him. 

“Angel?” Holly said doubtfully, watching Aziraphale sit and open his book, “Is that his name?” 

“No, it’s just…” 

Crowley trailed off, unsure as to how he should finish. Holly raised her eyebrows expectantly. 

“We’re flatmates,” Crowley said finally. 

Holly nodded knowingly, which disturbed Crowley because he didn’t know what it was she was knowing, but she seemed to know it with certainty.

~ 

Eventually Aziraphale had to head off to his own work. He had spent the late hours before bed the previous night reading up on flowers and plant care so as to be more helpful to his customers, and it was absolutely working. But at the back of his mind he was worried about Crowley, and even further back he was worried about making his way home. Truth be told, even with a fully charged phone he wasn’t confident in his ability to get home. As the sun dipped in the sky he became increasingly anxious. 

“Young man,” said a gruff voice with a bad American accent behind him, “Where might I find your selection of pansies?’ 

Despite the affect, Aziraphale face immediately lit up in recognition. 

“_Crowley _ ,” he said, spinning on his heel, “What are you _ doing _here?” 

“I’m looking for a very particular variety,” Crowley continued in the same voice, “Pale, a little bit delicate-” 

“Will you _ stop, _ ” Aziraphale said, “I’m trying to _ work. _”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Crowley said, beginning to wander off, “You won’t even know I’m here.” 

In the final hours of his shift he would occasionally catch Crowley’s mischievous eyes and grin despite himself. And when he closed, Crowley was right there to walk him home. 

“Wait!” Aziraphale said just before he left the shop, “I almost forgot.”

Crowley stepped outside and waited idly on the sidewalk. When Aziraphale joined him he was shyly holding some flowers in his palm. 

“Sometimes flowers fall of the plants that are still quite pretty,” he explained, “So I grabbed some.” 

“What are these?” Crowley asked, tense but not really sure why. 

“Amaryllis,” Aziraphale said, “Flower of pride. I thought they might be your favorite.” 

Aziraphale held them out bashfully, and Crowley took them tenderly into his hands. He stared at them, wide-eyed. 

“What makes you say that?” he breathed. 

“Just a hunch.” 

Eventually Crowley cleared his throat and schooled his expression. 

“Not my favorite,” he said. 

Aziraphale frowned, embarrassed for a moment, but he noticed that Crowley was still cradling the flowers gently, lovingly. It may not have been his favorite, but he seemed grateful nonetheless. 

“Ah, well,” he said, “I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Let’s go,” Crowley said.

They began their way down the sidewalk side by side. 

“How was your day?” Aziraphale asked as they strolled. 

“Much better, for some reason,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale grinned. 

“I told you we would make it work.” 

~ 

(“Snapdragon. Flower of deception.” 

“Fun. But not my favorite.”) 

~ 

(“Anemone. Flower of the forsaken.” 

“Oh, that’s a_ low _ blow.”) 

~ 

(“Marigold, represents cruelty.” 

“Really, angel?”) 

~ 

(“Mock orange. Deceit.” 

“That ones fake.” 

“It’s not!” 

“You deceive me.”

"Stop it.") 

~ 

(“Monkshood. A warning.” 

“Isn’t that… wolfsbane.” 

“... yes.” 

“So is the warning that you’ll poison me?”) 

~ 

(“Chrysanthemum… for friendship.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”) 

~ 

(Aziraphale held out the bouquet of bright yellow flowers confidently. Previously he had found small blossoms, mere petals, _ sometimes _a full stem. But this time he had an entire bunch. 

“Daffodils,” he said, “I’m sure of it.”

Crowley blushed and snatched the flowers from his hand. 

“Took you long enough to work it out.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose daffodils because after a bit of googling one of the flower meanings is "you are the only one for me"


	5. Mindfullness (Two Months)

Crowley was spritzing his plant. It was still vibrant and green, which he was very proud of, considering there was no supernatural intervention helping it grow. When Crowley wasn’t wearing his glasses (a habit he was slowly trying to abandon due to Aziraphale’s nagging) Crowley propped them up between two of Little Crowley’s leaves.

He was also in the middle of  _ chastising  _ the plant. After all, he had to counteract all the times that Aziraphale crooned kindly at it in the mornings when he thought Crowley was still asleep.

“You’ve been doing well so far,” Crowley drawled, “But I’m warning you, twig. If you even  _ think  _ about wilting… or, hell forgive, a  _ spot… _ ”

“ _ Crowley _ ,” Aziraphale interrupted, “You do realize that now, as a human, you don’t have to act so  _ comically  _ cruel. You’re no longer obligated to be a terrible person.”

“Shut it, angel,” Crowley replied, very much not in the mood, “You really do sound just like all the other angels sometimes, you know.”

Aziraphale frowned, clearly hurt.

“Why are you so  _ mean  _ to me?”

_ That’s just the way I am _ , is one of the things he wanted to say.

_ Sorry, I didn’t mean it,  _ is another thing he wanted to say.

_ Mean?  _ I’m  _ mean? What about that time you told me we weren’t even friends?  _ That  _ was mean. And I don’t really know why I came crawling back to you every time you rejected me,  _ every  _ time, and I don’t know why after all this time of doing that, of saving you, of trying my best to make you happy, for six  _ thousand  _ years, you’re still determined to call  _ me  _ the mean one over something this petty,  _ was something else he wanted to say. 

But he didn’t say any of it. 

~

It was Sunday, and neither of them had work, so Crowley sat in bed watching Golden Girls on his laptop while Aziraphale read at the table. 

“I forgot,” Aziraphale said suddenly, “There’s a book I very much wanted you to read.”

Crowley squinted his eyes suspiciously while Aziraphale a thin, crisp volume off the shelf.

“Some kind of novel, is it?” Crowley asked. 

“Actually, a poetry book,” Aziraphale replied, handing it over.

“ _ The Wild Iris,”  _ Crowley said, “Louise…. Gluck? Glook?”

“Louise Glück.”

“Poetry, you said?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, “I haven’t read much modern poetry, but I stumbled across this one and it reminded me of you. All the flowers and death and--”

“Maybe later,” Crowley said, putting the book aside and closing his laptop, “We need to talk about what we’re going to do. You know, about heaven and hell.”

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale said, chuckling to himself, “I’ve been so caught up in figuring out all these human things that I’ve forgotten about what we need to do to stop being human.”

“Anathema hasn’t found anything,” Crowley said, “Which makes sense, since there’s so Heaven and Hell have been careful to allow as little documentation of themselves as possible.”

“I still say that we should wait it out,” Aziraphale said, “At some point we just can’t be worth the effort, can we?”

“Hell  _ never  _ forgets a bitch,” Crowley replied.

“You’ve been watching far too much of that Netflix funnyman,” Aziraphale said.

“How long would we wait, anyway?” Crowley said, “We don’t have any ethereal or occult senses, as far as we know the  _ moment  _ we become ourselves again they’ll find us.”

“To be honest, I’ve still held up hope that maybe the  _ right  _ angels will be able to find us,” Aziraphale said.

“The ‘right’ angels, angel?” Crowley said, “How do you still think that there are any good ones left? Did any of them come to your aid when they thought you were dying by hellfire? Did any single one of them say anything? Did anyone  _ care _ ?”

“We can’t know,” Aziraphale said, “Bureaucracy and all that. Maybe not everyone knew.”

“Fuck, angel, when will you truly get it through your skull that no one else is on our side?”

“You don’t know that!” Aziraphale said, voice rising in pitch and volume, “ _ Surely  _ we can’t be unique."

Crowley found himself growing increasingly irritated. He was used to being able to shut that kind of thing down, keep his thoughts straight, maybe take it out on an unsuspecting stranger later. But he was beginning to find it hard to ignore, it was filling his head, distracting him, preventing him from thinking straight. He felt something turning in his mind, or fogging, or squeezing… 

“Have you noticed that it’s harder to think?” Crowley said. 

“What does  _ that  _ mean?” Aziraphale replied. 

“Sometimes things get, you know, eh,  _ fuzzy _ ,” Crowley said, “Like you think something, and you forget. Or you think things on accident. Feel things that don’t make sense.”

“Well we’ve never had brains before,” Aziraphale replied thoughtfully. 

“Speak for yourself,” Crowley said with a smirk. 

Aziraphale glared. 

“You know what I mean. Real, physical, biologically limited brains. They don’t work perfectly, you know.”

Crowley groaned. 

“How do humans survive,” he muttered, “Maybe Anathema has something to say.”

What Anathema had to say, of course, was that if either of them experienced problems with thinking and emotions they should get a therapist.

“Well, there goes the theory of prescience,” Aziraphale said with a chuckle, “Therapy. How silly.”

“Yup,” Crowley said, “Sure.”

~

“Is this your first time doing something like this?”

The therapist’s name was Linda, and seemed nice enough. Crowley did his best not to glower at the kind woman. Regardless, Crowley felt that the whole thing was going to be incredibly dumb.

“Yeah, I’m new to this whole…  _ thing. _ ”

Crowley had taken his glasses back from Crowley Jr. and was frustrated that he couldn’t see very well through them. He fidgeted with them a bit, feeling the urge to take them off but refusing to indulge it.

“Anything in particular bring you in?”

Crowley didn’t think he would tell her if he knew, but he didn’t know, so the point was moot.

“A friend recommended it,” he said.

“Hm. Well, what’s on your mind?”

“Dunno.”

Linda smiled patiently.

“Your accent,” she said, “I imagine you’re not from around here.”

“No, just moved here from London actually.”

“Ah, any particular reason?”

“Uh… We were looking for a fresh start, so to speak.”

Linda cocked her eyebrow.

“We?”

“Ah yes, me and Az- that is, my… friend. Er, Ezra.”

“Do you live together?”

“Yes,” Crowley said, “Share a flat downtown.”

“And how has that been working.”

Crowley ran his hand through his hair.

“It’s good. You know. We’re making it work.”

“How do you know him? What’s your relationship like?”

Crowley scoffed, then made an assortment of vague noises.

“Eh. Hhhg. M. It’s, it’s, it’s… complicated.”

“Well,” Linda replied, “We have an hour.”

Crowley sighed. He really didn’t think this through. He never seemed to think anything through.

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” he began, trying to find a way to express things as succinctly as possible to end this horrid line of conversation, “But it took us a while to… get along. Well, we got along, but it was… complicated.”

“And now you’re friends?” Linda said.

“My only friend, really,” Crowley admitted, “Only friend I ever had.”

“Why didn’t you get along, before?”

Crowley grappled for words, forgetting his previous reticence.

“A very,  _ very  _ long time ago,” he began, “I made a… mistake? And I got in a lot of trouble with my. Er. Mom?”

“I see. And Ezra…?”

“Well, our mom… I mean, no, we’re not brothers, I… let me start over.”

Linda frowned.

“It’s very important for you to tell me the truth, Anthony,” she said, “Everything stays between the two of us, and if you’re not truthful then I can’t help you.”

“I’m trying. Just. Give me a moment.”

Linda sat patiently while Crowley assembled the narrative in his mind.

“It wasn’t my mom,” Crowley said slowly, “It… was  _ his  _ mom. I kind of thought of her as my mom, once. But then I did something bad, and she never spoke to me again. And Ezra and I, we weren’t allowed to be friends.”

Linda nodded along with his story.

“I was young,” Crowley continued, “I didn’t know what I was doing. Sa—my, er,  _ older brother _ , he told me to do it. But it didn’t matter. And A—Ezra was perfect. Never did anything wrong. So from then on, he was an angel, and I was… a demon.”

“Is that how you see yourself?”

Crowley stared into his lap, clenching his fists.

“That’s what I  _ am, _ ” he hissed, growing more and more agitated. 

“Do you think that’s how he sees  _ you? _ ”

Crowley looked up. How Aziraphale saw him… he couldn’t figure out how to answer.

“He wants me to be something different than I am,” Crowley said finally.

“What do you mean by that.”

Crowley looked up at the ceiling and gestured vaguely.

“I… euh… mgstg… ssss… s-s-s…so… I have this plant, alright?”

Linda nodded.

“Back in London, I had all these plants. Big, beautiful plants. Perfect. And they were  _ perfect  _ because I, well, I yelled at them, and they were afraid of not being good enough. And every time I saw a spot I threatened to put them through the garbage disposal.”

Linda nodded, slower this time. It never occurred to Crowley that this practice was ridiculous, but he had also never described it out loud. He pushed on.

“I didn’t really put them through the garbage disposal…” Crowley said, “Well, I did at first. But then I thought, they’re rebelling. Just like I did. So that makes us kind of like, comrades, right?”

“… Right.”

“Aziraphale—I mean Ezra. He doesn’t know about that last part,” Crowley said, “Anyway, I brought one of my smaller plants to America with me, and I still speak sternly to him, see, to make sure he grows properly. And get this, Aziraphale says, ‘ _ you’re not a demon anymore, Crowley, you don’t have to be a terrible person’. _ ”

Linda hummed for a moment.

“And how does that make you feel?” she asked.

“It’s! Well! Sss’bloody irritating, is what that is! Just because I’m not a demon anymore doesn’t mean I have to be  _ nice  _ and  _ cheerful  _ and  _ la-dee-da  _ all the time. This is just who I am. I can be angry and mean and just a  _ little  _ bit naughty without being a bad person _ . _ I feel like he wants me to… change everything about myself, just to prove I’m not a demon anymore. And then at the same time he goes around saying ‘oh I’m the nice one and you’re the mean one’. I don’t want to be the mean one, or the nice one, I just want to be…”

Crowley found himself huffing a little bit. Moments later he found himself crying a little bit. Oh, stopping himself from crying was hard enough when he had more control over his bodily processes, now it was damn near impossible.

“So what I hear you saying,” Linda said, “Is that you feel trapped in the role he wants you to play.”

Crowley stared at his hands, ran his gaze along the red crescents that marked his palms.

“He was the only one who ever thought I was someone worth knowing,” Crowley said, stifling a sob, “What if it’s just because he pities me. Or hopes someday I’ll change.”

Linda sighed.

“Anthony, this is just one session, and I surely don’t want to make too many generalizations without very much data,” she said, “That being said, it seems like you have some… coping mechanisms that your friend—Ezra, is it?—Doesn’t understand, and is uncomfortable with.”

“ _ Coping mech— _ coping for  _ what _ ?”

“Well, it seems as if your experience with an unforgiving authority figure has driven you to have a very peculiar relationship with your houseplants.”

“Oh, Linda, don’t you psychoanalyze me.”

Linda laughed.

“Mr. Crowley, I’m afraid that’s my job,” she said, “In order for you to communicate why you do the things you do to Ezra, it’s important that you understand them yourself. Now, I imagine that some of your coping mechanisms are healthier than others. And maybe some of them are genuinely harmful to Ezra, and that’s what he’s reacting to. We can work on that in later sessions. For now, you need to communicate to him that you need space to be yourself and work through your trauma without his judgment.”

“ _ How. _ ”

“Observe your own emotions non-judgmentally,” she began, “So that you can communicate them effectively. Before you act on an emotion, try to figure out why you’re feeling it.”

Crowley nodded along as she continued to list some of the healthier ways he could communicate. He couldn’t begin to imagine himself communicating anything, let alone effectively. He couldn’t communicate to  _ himself,  _ much less Aziraphale. But he thought, maybe… he’d try. 

“…And make sure to listen to what he has to say,” she continued, “Most importantly: try to forgive yourself when something goes wrong.”

Crowley nodded stiffly. He tried to remind himself that this was dumb, and nothing would come of it, and he definitely wasn’t even listening.

“I’m afraid that’s all the time we have today,” Linda said finally, “Would you like to schedule some more appointments?”

Crowley hesitated a moment before saying, “Yes, please.”

~

Crowley came home red-eyed and exhausted. It never occurred to him that just  _ thinking _ would be so tiring. And yet here he was on a Saturday, barely able to stay upright despite having no work all day.

“Crowley!  _ There  _ you are. You’ve put on those silly glasses again. You  _ know  _ you’re not a demon anymore, why do you still wear them, for God’s sake?”

Crowley’s gaze snapped up.

“Oh, shut  _ up _ !” Crowley snarled, “You don’t know what its  _ like,  _ you’ve never  _ understood,  _ you’ve never bothered to try. You don’t  _ get  _ it! Try living six thousand years without anyone looking you in the eye and see how you feel, you dim-witted  _ pathetic  _ excuse for an angel!”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in shock.

“Why are you so  _ mean  _ to me,” Aziraphale said again, with a surprising amount of pain tinting his voice. 

Crowley hissed.

“I’m a demon, that’s what we  _ do! _ ”

Crowley had quite a few more things to say, but he stopped himself. What was he doing? He  _ just  _ spent an hour—and a considerable amount of their money—trying to figure out how to do this right, and he was already fucking it up. He frantically tried to remember what Linda had told him. _ _

_ What are you feeling,  _ he asked himself. Angry, obviously. Easy. Next.

_ Why are you feeling this way?  _ Well… Aziraphale was being  _ judgmental  _ of his glasses without even understanding why Crowley wore them.

_ Well why  _ do  _ you wear them? _

Crowley bit his lip and then sighed.

“I wear them because I’m not used to people being able to see my eyes, and it makes me uncomfortable,” he said out loud, “I’m working on wearing them less, but in the meantime I’d appreciate if you’d just leave it alone.”

Aziraphale was at a loss.

“Oh… Crowley, is… is something the matter?”

Crowley closed his eyes for a moment. When he looked back at Aziraphale he saw his own frustration and distress reflected in his angel’s eyes. Crowley’s resolve hardened. He had committed to making this thing work, and he was going to put in the work.

“I just saw a therapist,” Crowley said, walking to the table and straddling a chair.

Aziraphale seemed at a loss for words.

“Oh?”

“When I was a… supernatural entity,” Crowley said, “It was much easier to just push aside my… issues. But… everything that’s happened? From falling, until now? It’s fucked up! And this human brain isn’t handling it well.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said, although it seemed as though he did not really see.

“Linda—s’my therapist, she’s alright—Linda said that I should… communicate some things to you.”

“Well, I’m all ears, my boy.”

Crowley took a deep breath.

“Sometimes,” he said, “I feel as though you… look  _ disdainfully  _ on the things that I do. Things like wearing these glasses or, or yelling at plants, or gluing pennies to the sidewalk.”

Crowley braced himself for the scoff or rolled eyes, but Aziraphale only listened attentively.

“You look—I  _ feel  _ like you look at those things and see them as signs that I’m still a demon,” Crowley said, “And that being a demon makes me a bad person.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, but Crowley silenced him with a glare.

“My life has been miserable, angel,” Crowley said, “And there are some… habits I picked up to deal with that. I don’t expect you to understand all of them. Hell, I don’t even understand all of them. And some of them are genuinely bad, and I’ll try to change them. But sometimes I just need to be angry, not put on this facade of cheerfulness, do things for  _ myself. _

“I’m not a demon anymore. But you’re not an angel, either. There are things I’ve got to quit, and there are things you’ve got to quit. And one of them, for you, I think, is… not assuming you know what’s good and right all the time. Not caring so much about  _ surface-level  _ indications of good and bad and just… letting it be.”

Aziraphale looked crestfallen.

“I’m so sorry, my dear boy. I had no idea… but no, you’re right. I should be more mindful of your experiences. I don’t have the first idea of what it’s been like for you all these six thousand years, and frankly I’m absolutely floored that you managed to become such a genuinely wholesome person despite all you’ve been through. Why… sometimes I can hardly blame the demons for being such rascals, considering everything. But you… well, you’re a miracle in of yourself.”

Crowley coughed to mask a sob.

“Thank you, angel.”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale mused, “When you do things that are mean, but ultimately benign…well, it’s easier to speak up then than when you’re mean to  _ me _ . When I actually hurt.”

Crowley’s heart panged. Of course. Of course he was hurting Aziraphale, and yet he was making it all about himself, like he had forgotten that he was  _ literally evil.  _ He was defending  _ evil actions  _ to an  _ angel… _ _ _

“I don’t like it when you’re mean to me,” Aziraphale said, “And I’d like it if you’d do it less. But I should tell you that in a more effective way. And I know it’s not on purpose. Crowley, dear, please don’t cry. I’m not mad at you.”

Aziraphale stepped forwards and brushed a tear from Crowley’s face with his thumb. He sat down beside him.

“We’ve both been caught up in some very unhealthy ways of viewing ourselves, and each other,” Aziraphale said, “But if we’re mindful of one another, I think we can get better.”

“I won’t be mean to you anymore, angel,” Crowley promised.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “If you weren’t mean to me  _ at all _ I don’t think I’d recognize you.”

Crowley laughed and Aziraphale’s soft smile returned.

“There, now that’s better. Good to see your terrible,  _ evil  _ demon smile,” he said.

“Maybe I won’t stop being mean, but at the very least I can start being nice,” Crowley offered.

“I’ve always said you were nice,” Aziraphale said, “You’ve always been nice. Anyway, I’ll cook us up some dinner, yes?”

~

Aziraphale showed up about half an hour after opening, as had become his custom.

“The usual?” Holly asked.

“Yes, please, my dear,” Aziraphale said, “And may I say your earrings are positively  _ splendid. _ ”

He always found something to compliment, but it still hadn’t gotten old for her.

“Thank you, Ezra,” Holly said, “I’m sure Anthony’s got it ready for you.”

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale said, “How goes it?”

“Oh, it goes.”

Crowley turned his bright golden gaze and Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat. He utterly forgot how to continue lighthearted banter.

“You have lovely eyes, my dear,” he said reverently.

Crowley averted his gaze and pushed Aziraphale’s hot cocoa to him. Aziraphale looked into the cup and gasped. Crowley had drawn a pair of angel wings in the foam.

“I’ve been practicing it,” he said, “I’m trying to be nice.”

He watched Aziraphale’s face shift into his signature smile, the one where his eyebrows drop and his cheeks lift like pink balloons. 


	6. Touch (Four Months)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes this is the sex chapter, no it's not sexy.

_ At the end of my suffering, _

_ There was a door. _

_ Hear me out: that which you call death, _

_ I remember. _

From the very first lines of Glück’s poetry, Crowley was irrevocably drawn in. He didn’t know poetry could sound like this, like his own inner monologue talking back at him. His unconscious speaking to his consciousness out of turn. Memories of falling from Heaven punctuated by a callousness so intimate he saw his own fingerprints in the words. 

“Oh, my dear, are you finally reading that book I brought you?”

Crowley’s eyes snapped up, breaking contact with the page. He had no idea how long he had been reading. He told himself it couldn’t possibly have been that long, since he was still staring at the first page. Then again, he seemed to have most of those lines memorized; they danced around the corners of his eyes even as his gaze met Aziraphale’s, like he had read them over and over and over again.

_ Then it was over: that which you fear, being _

_ a soul and unable _

_ to speak… _

“Yeah, picked it up,” Crowley replied. 

“How do you like it?” Aziraphale pressed from the other side of the table where he was reading his own book. 

Crowley shrugged absentmindedly, closing the book and putting it down in front of him. 

“It’s, it’s, it’s... a’ight.” 

Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley averted his gaze. He found his hand gravitating towards the book again and used the effort to push it away rather than pick it back up. He hovered his palm above the tabletop a moment longer, needing to find something to do with it. Finally he noticed Anathema’s little advice notebook and settled on that instead. 

“Getting through this thing, aren’t we?” he said absentmindedly, “Talking about silly things now. Ah, yes, just took care of the car thing. I’ll take you to this museum she’s talking about here some time this weekend, what do you think?”

Aziraphale nodded without looking up, having gone back to diligently reading his novel. 

“Look at that, through another page,” Crowey said, turning it dramatically, “Next one, er…. Nkg.” 

Aziraphale glanced up at Crowley. 

“What is it?” 

“... nothing?” 

Aziraphale frowned, and Crowley sighed. 

_ “Human beings need touch to survive,” _ Crowley read aloud, _ “You’ll need to find some way to satisfy this to be healthy.”_

The two of them looked at each other, bashful and incredulous, for a long and silent moment.

_ “ _I just don’t think that’s true,” Crowley said finally, “That’s a prank, or something.” 

“It certainly seems… improbable,” Aziraphale replied, “But humans do some strange things. And Anathema doesn’t seem the pranking type.” 

_ “ _I’m googling it,” Crowley insisted, “I’m telling you. It’s not real.”

After some verifying research by Crowley, and a very distressed phone call to Anathema from Aziraphale, it seemed to be at least _ partially _true.

“Wh—it’s—we… well we’re not going to _ die, _though,” Crowley said. 

“Anathema hasn’t steered us wrong yet,” Aziraphale reasoned, “Anyway, we need all the help we can get to keep these… blasted meat machines working properly.” 

“Well, I don’t particularly fancy the idea of going around _ touching _people.” 

Aziraphale tapped his hands against his stomach contemplatively for a moment.

“Well, we have each other.”

So they decided on a list of ways they could incorporate touch into their everyday routines. Mostly stacking their hands on top of each other whenever they were sitting close. Grasping each other by the forearm to say goodbye or hello. They spoke vaguely of added new things eventually, though on Crowley’s part he wasn’t sure what or how. 

“Demons aren’t exactly… accustomed to. This. Stuff.” 

Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley thought it might have been a sad kind of smile, but he wasn’t sure. 

“Angels aren’t either, actually,” Aziraphale said, “Don’t think I’ve been… no, it’s not really a ‘thing’, as you would say.” 

“No?” Crowey said with a chuckle. 

“Gabriel would probably think of it as sullying the Heavenly form,” Aziraphale added with a much more relaxed, amused smile. 

“Interesting,” Crowley said, “Too dirty for Heaven, too pleasant for Hell.”

“A thoroughly human activity, then,” Aziraphale said, “Appropriate.” 

~

The touching _ specifically _ wasn’t a problem for Crowley. Sure, it was a bit awkward, but he told himself that Aziraphale _ especially _needed some kind of human contact and who else would do it? No, it wasn’t the intricate skin-to-skin rituals that they had established that were the problem. 

The problem was his dick. 

He had rather lost control of the thing. He had never had one before--hadn’t particularly cared enough to make the _ effort-- _and so had no idea what to do with it. He supposed that for the last four months he and his body had been far too distracted by other problems for this to happen. But now… well, it was happening, and the new touching made it worse. 

Anathema’s notebook was not helpful. Of course, she had managed to predict even this. But her advice had not been helpful. Porn—regardless of the type—made him feel incredibly strange and voyeuristic. It did nothing for him but make him feel uncomfortable and upset. There was the _ other _advice—find someone to fuck—but this was even more revolting a concept than the first. 

Still, one quiet evening before picking up Aziraphale from the flower shop, Crowley downloaded Tinder. He swiped over and over and over, not sure what he was supposed to be looking for (and, unbeknownst to him, he was not actually understanding the function of the app at all). Human stranger after human stranger, a face and a collection of words, over and over and over again… 

_ Crowley, dear, are you coming? - Aziraphale_

Crowley started. Faces still kept sliding in and out of his vision as he texted an apology and headed out the door. 

~ 

Aziraphale’s hand rested lightly on Crowley’s hand, which was on the stick shift of the old car Anathema had helped them acquire. Aziraphale was a genius when it came to finding simple ways to touch. Crowley was struck dumb by it. 

He decided that the best way to deal with the problem was just to refuse to acknowledge it whatsoever. He drove much slower and more deliberately than usual, but if Aziraphale noticed he said nothing. He was probably pleased, if anything. But he simply babbled about flowers and herbs and lovely people as always. 

It wasn’t until they arrived at the apartment that Aziraphale said anything. 

“You’ve been incredibly quiet this evening, my dear boy, is everything alright?” 

“Sure, sure, sure,” Crowley said, “I’m just going to hop in the shower.” 

“Alright, but let me brush my teeth first.” 

By the time it Crowley got in the shower his cock was throbbing, and Crowley glared down at it. 

“_Stop that. _ You are _ my _body and you will do as I say.” 

It wanted to be touched, _ ached _ to be touched, but Crowley felt as though they were having some sort of war. A _ cold _war. So Crowley refused to engage. After getting properly clean he let the water run cold and hoped that would be the end of it. 

Aziraphale was already in bed, back turned. Crowley turned out the light and slid into bed next to him. He could feel the warmth of Aziraphale’s body through the blankets between them and kept every muscle in his body as tense as possible in order to combat his own heat. He felt his heart beating through the silence. 

“_Crowley,” _ Aziraphale whispered, startling him, “Will you _ please _tell me what’s the matter.” 

“There’s nothing, angel, go to sleep.”

“Is it something I did?” Aziraphale asked, “Please, Crowley, just tell me.” 

“I can work it out myself,” Crowley insisted through gritted teeth. 

“I’m sure you could, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, “But you don’t have to. We’re in this together, remember?” 

Crowley paused for a long time. It had only been four months, but Aziraphale hadn’t failed him since they both became human. Aziraphale was always the answer to his problems, or at least helped him find it.

“I keep getting erections.” 

Crowley heard Aziraphale giggle a little, and was grateful that he at least _ tried _to stifle it. 

“I’m sorry my dear, I don’t understand the problem.” 

“I! Ngsk…They bother me,” Crowley hissed, “I don’t know how to get rid of them.” 

“Well surely you just-” 

“I’ve _ tried _masturbation, angel. I don’t like it. Doesn’t work. Doesn’t feel… right. And I’ve tried porn, too, before you ask.”

“Well, have you tried looking for someone to shag then?”

Crowley made a scandalized noise, partially at the thought, partially at the very sound of Aziraphale saying it. 

“I can hardly stand the thought of _ touching _anyone but you, you really think I’m going to fuck some random stranger?” 

Aziraphale was silent for a moment. He turned over to Crowley, who was lying flat on his back. 

“Well, I can help you,” he said. 

“_What. _” 

“I said I can help you,” Aziraphale repeated, “If you’re comfortable, that is.” 

Crowley’s incredulous gaze pierced through the dark. 

“Do you know _ how? _”

Aziraphale laughed for real this time. 

“My _ dear _boy, I’ve had my fair share of dalliances,” he said, “You’re not the only one who’s been around all these years.” 

Crowley was deadly silent. 

“… _ Have _you…?” 

Crowley growled in frustration.

“It—ngsk—ugh! I never liked it, okay?” he said, “Never saw the point. Early on I _ tried _a few… things. The guys were always like, hey, sexing up the humans is a great way to tempt them! But I never saw the appeal.” 

“I see.” 

“Oh, _ shut _it angel,” Crowley said, turning over and hugging the blankets to himself. 

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale said softly, “It’s quite alright. There’s no need to be embarrassed. I really don’t see it as a big deal. I hadn’t even _ thought _about it since we’ve been human, up until I read Anathema’s entry on touch—“ 

Crowley flipped back over. 

“Have you been fucking _ recently? _” 

“Well not _ here, _” Aziraphale replied, a little offended, “I would never bring anyone here without letting you know. But, you know—” 

“_Don’t. _”

Aziraphale didn’t even need to _ begin _ to talk about sex before Crowley was imagining it, vividly, _ intimately. _ Aziraphale’s soft skin against his, more than just fingertips brushing up against his arm, so much more than he had ever even considered, _ dreamed _... 

“If I just ignore it, eventually it’ll stop,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, “You’re free to give that a try, but I’m not convinced it will work. I do know a thing or two, and I have the necessary supplies… well, if you think it will help.” 

Crowley’s throat went dry. His tired mind stopped fighting and his imagination was flooded with images and sensations. 

“Okay,” he managed. 

“Okay?” Aziraphale repeated. 

Crowley nodded and Aziraphale leaned over him, propping himself up on his hands and peering softly down. Crowley’s heart jumped into his throat and he felt unbearably dizzy. 

“Let me know what feels good,” Aziraphale murmured gently, “And we can stop whenever you like.” 

~

They did not stop until Crowley finished. 

It hadn’t taken long. Crowley was utterly overwhelmed and laid there panting for a couple of minutes, trying to break through the fog in his mind. 

“Ngk.”

“Are you feeling alright?” Aziraphale asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.

“I—buh—em… yes. I’m. Thank you.”

“We can talk more about it in the morning, but I think you should get some sleep,” Aziraphale said softly, “Just think, this is another great way to get the physical contact our bodies need!” 

Crowley nodded, done with words for the night. Aziraphale laid down beside him and, with absolutely no thought at all, Crowley tucked himself into the crook of his arm. 

“Precisely,” Aziraphale said, “Good night, Crowley.” 

~ 

Despite the late night, Crowley felt wonderfully refreshed the next morning. He expected some awkwardness, but very little changed. Their morning routine went by as usual, brushing their teeth, getting dressed, sitting at the table to have breakfast together.

“Was that alright?” Aziraphale said as he ate, a little bit fretfully, “What happened last night? Perhaps we should have waited, talked about it more—”

“It was fine, angel,” Crowley said, “Thank you. It was… bothering me.” 

Aziraphale beamed. 

“Well, that’s what friends are for.”

They finished their breakfast peacefully, and Crowley was soon ready for work. 

“Before you go, my dear,” Aziraphale said shyly, “I… well. I’d like to give you a hug.” 

Crowley nodded. He couldn’t remember if anyone had ever given him a hug. He figured they must have, but no particular memory came to mind. And when Aziraphale hugged him, he knew that _ certainly _ no one had ever hugged him like _ that. _Crowley put his arms around Aziraphale and held tightly for just a moment. 

“We should do _ this _ more often,” he whispered. 

He let go and bid Aziraphale goodbye.

Aziraphale was left alone in the apartment, feeling especially peaceful as he tidied up after breakfast. Six thousand years never really knowing how much trust to give, how much caution to take, and here they were. He never could have imagined Crowley confiding in him with something so private. And he was… well, he was touched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing about Crowley reading The Wild Iris and then I realized I liked the idea so much that I just wanna. Write a separate fic about it. So I just kind of awkwardly drop off talking about it in this fic, but if you'd like to read more about check out [The Wily Iris](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21126683/chapters/50275514).
> 
> It takes place after this fic ends, I guess.


	7. Dysphoria (Seven Months)

It was a magnificent scarf, dark ruby red with black detail work. Long black tassels on the ends. At least a foot wide, extravagantly long. Probably hand-made.

Crowley had been staring at it with envy long and hard enough that eventually Holly noticed. 

“Is there something in my teeth, Tony?” 

Crowley snapped out of his haze. He wasn’t used to people being able to follow his gaze, and also wasn’t used to caring about it very much. 

“No, it’s just… nice scarf,” Crowley said, “And I’m _ begging _you to call me AJ.”

Holly gasped dramatically, ignoring the latter statement. 

“Oh! Thank you.” Holly said, “Normally it’s Ezra who gives out the compliments, you shock me.” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

“I’ve noticed you like red,” Holly said, “You should get yourself a nice red coat. It’s cold out.” 

Crowley caught Aziraphale’s gaze across the room. He was waving, time to go, apparently. Crowley struggled to imagine his wings, his ethereal light, even a _ smidge _of his true form—or what it used to be. 

~

Crowley stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, staring at the person reflected back at him. His hair was plastered to his forehead (having just been wetted by the shower). A towel was gathered haphazardly around his waist. 

Before becoming human he thought of his body as just that, his body. But now two things felt simultaneously true: that his body had begun to define his whole existence, and that his body no longer truly belonged to him. 

_ “ _Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale called softly from outside, “You’ve been in there quite a while. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I’d just like to make sure you’re alright.” 

Crowley’s gaze, which had been drifting slowly down the length of his body, taking in this being he had become, snapped back up to his own eyes. Black disk on gold disk on white. Unrecognizable. And he thought perhaps that was a good thing, or perhaps it was a bad thing, or perhaps it was just a thing. 

“I’m fine, angel,” Crowley said, “I’ll be out in a second.” 

He emerged from the bathroom in his towel. Aziraphale looked him up and down, very familiar by now with his body, but seeing it anew every time. Lean and elegant. Aziraphale looked down at himself and sighed. 

“Crowley,” he began, “Should I… well, do you… that is… do you think I should get a _ gym _membership, or something?” 

Crowley squinted in confusion. 

“What?” he said, “I guess? If you want to. Why?” 

Aziraphale blushed and didn’t meet Crowley’s eyes. 

“I just think I might be a little bit _ overweight, _and--”

Crowley glared. 

“Who told you that?” he said dangerously. 

“I--” 

“Was it your doctor?”

“Well, no.” 

“Then what are you on about?”

Aziraphale very much regretted bringing this up. 

“When I was an angel,” Aziraphale said, “I had a corporation that reflected bits of who I am. I was soft, in many senses of the word. And it never occurred to me that was a bad thing until… that is, until _ Gabriel _pointed out--” 

“Gabriel is a little bitch and if he were here right now I’d hit him right in the nose.” 

Aziraphale smiled, a little appreciatively, a little nervously. 

“Well,” he went on, “With Armageddon going on, I didn’t really think about it again. But as a human… it’s so much _ harder. _I see myself everywhere, but as the butt of a joke or a thing of disgust. I don’t know why I care, or why it matters, but I just… maybe I don’t want to be soft anymore. Maybe I want to look more like…” 

He was about to say, more like _ you, _but he didn’t, electing instead to trail off and look at the floor. When he looked up again Crowley was standing a bit closer. He gently put his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, “There’s nothing wrong with this corporation. Or, uh, _ body, _ I guess. If you want to go to the gym, or god forbid go on a _ diet, _go ahead. But only if it’s something you really want, for yourself. And, I don’t know, it doesn’t seem like you do. 

“You’ve always been soft, you’ve always liked being soft. And that’s one of the things I love about you.” 

Crowley’s eyes widened for a moment before he schooled his expression. He hadn’t really expected himself to say it, but it came out of its own volition. He scrambled for something to say before Aziraphale processed it. 

“And… well… uh… so you’ve got some fat on you. You’ve also got some muscle on, more than me at least. I can barely lift my toothbrush.” 

Crowley made a show of picking up a nearby spoon like it was the heaviest thing in the world, and Aziraphale laughed at the theatrics, and Crowley’s frantic mind relaxed. 

“And even if you didn’t,” Crowley went on, “It wouldn’t matter to me. And I know I’m only one opinion, but, well, mine’s the most important--” 

“Shut up,” Aziraphale said, but it was incredibly soft, just like the rest of him, and Crowley melted at the sound of it. 

Crowley sighed and draped himself across a nearby chair. 

“I sort of know how you feel though,” Crowley said, “Not specifically, just… I hate having this body.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and nodded.

“I was a demon,” Crowley went on, “An ageless, genderless, limitless _ demon _ with the world at my fingertips and now… I’m a twenty-five-year-old human male who has to walk around this world being _ seen _ . I always cared about how I look, but I was never this... uncertain. Self-conscious, I guess. _ ”_

Aziraphale plopped himself down beside Crowley at the table.

“What brought this on?” Aziraphale asked. 

“I… ah, mmm, it’s… I saw a pretty scarf.” 

“Oh?” 

“I don’t know how to explain it angel,” Crowley admitted, “I saw a pretty scarf and I remembered how it felt to look however I wanted and not _ care. _ But now I’m a _ man, _whatever that means—”

“Don’t be silly,” Aziraphale said, “You can wear whatever pretty scarves you want, even most humans have passed that kind of reductive thinking. And if you don’t want to be a man, then you don’t have to be one.” 

“But it wouldn’t _ help, _ angel,” Crowley said, “That’s the problem, it doesn’t matter what I wear, I feel _ trapped. _ A scarf, a pronoun, each just one less thing of infinitely many that I have to be. Or can’t be. There’s still this body, this horrible horrible body that makes me be things I don’t want to be. Tired, hungry, _ horny, _self-conscious… It’s awful.” 

Aziraphale wanted to help, but he felt it too, and he didn’t know what to do about it either.

“I miss being an angel,” Aziraphale said quietly, “I miss being… ethereal. I miss being in God’s light.”

“I’ve felt that way for six thousand years,” Crowley said through gritted teeth, “I’ve missed being an angel for six thousand years and thought nothing could compare.” 

Aziraphale cast his gaze down. 

“I’m still not very good at thinking from your perspective, am I,” he said, “I’m sorry.” 

Crowley softened. 

“Oh, angel,” Crowley said, “You’ve given my perspective more time of day than anyone ever has. Or ever will. You’re the only one who knows how this feels, I shouldn’t… tell me more. About how you feel.” 

Aziraphale gazed out the window. 

“Sometimes I forget,” he said, “That’s the worst part, more than when I’m… actively thinking of it. It’s like I’m in chains but as long as I don’t move I can’t really tell. But then I try to stand up… take a walk… open my wings… bless a sick man on the side of the road…” 

Aziraphale closed his eyes. Crowley didn’t know if he had ever seen him cry, and he always imagined angel tears would be some kind of incredible thing, but they might as well have been one of the many drops of water leaking from the shower head, or the raindrops hitting the window pane. 

“I used to be _ magic, _” Aziraphale whispered. 

“Come, now,” Crowley said, “I’m sure you can still pull a coin out of my ear.” 

Aziraphale turned back to Crowley with delight. 

“You’re absolutely right! I should get back into practice again, it’s been _ months _…” 

“Wish I hadn’t said that,” Crowley muttered. 

Aziraphale’s bright smile dimmed to a soft, affectionate one. 

“Even if it only helps a little bit,” Aziraphale said, “I think you should… I don’t know, wear that pretty scarf. I think that’s what the humans do. I think they also know that they are more than what they currently are, and they adorn themselves accordingly. It won’t fix things, but at least you’ll have that one more thing that’s _ you. _ Until we can change back, that is. _ ” _

Crowley chuckled. 

“Well, next time I get a paycheck…” 

“Oh, what if I _ knitted _ one for you,” Aziraphale said, “Oh, that would be _ delightful, _what fun…” 

Crowley began to tune out a little, but never stopped watching Aziraphale’s excited expressions dance across his face. He still wasn’t used to seeing Aziraphale only as his corporeal forms and not, you know, _ more than that. _ But he still remembered it: so ethereal, so _ bright, _so preternatural. 

~ 

It was a lumpy thing, the sickening-sweet red of maraschino cherries with something like tinsel woven throughout. Little black pom-poms on the end, one of which had already fallen off. Absurdly long but only three or four inches wide (at some points, five or six at others). Clearly hand-made, and one might guess it was made by a toddler.

Crowley had been staring at it so long in the bathroom mirror that Aziraphale, as usual, became concerned. 

“Crowley, you’ll be _ late. _”

“_Coming, _bloody hell." 

Crowley emerged just as Aziraphale arrive at the bathroom door, looking ready to fuss. Instead he beamed as Crowley pulled on a long red cloak. 

“It’s a cold day,” Crowley said offhandedly. 

“Yes, glad you’re bundled,” Aziraphale said. 

“I’ll see you later, angel.”

~ 

“Pretty coat!” 

Crowley didn’t meet Holly’s eyes as he approached the counter. 

“Oh, Tony, I mean AJ, I’m so glad you got that coat, cuz it’s been _ freezing _and you have no meat on you and every time I see you I start to shiver cuz—” 

Crowley shouldered off his coat and Holly’s face broke into a grin. 

“Your _ scarf! _ ” she said, regarding Aziraphale’s monstrosity, clutching her own beauty, “Oh my god we _ match!”_

“Shut it,” Crowley warned. 

“It’s so adorable and, and… _ loud! _” 

Crowley rolled his eyes and put his coat in the back. He could hear her still babbling about it out there and took his time. 

“The little puffballs, oh look it’s so _ long… _”

“Aziraphale made it for me, okay?” Crowley said.

Holly grew dead silent, and Crowley started to think maybe this would only make it worse.

“That’s the most _ adorable thing _ I have _ ever _heard,” Holly said, “It’s so ugly! Does he know what he’s doing?” 

Crowley elbowed her just as Aziraphale walked through the door.

“Ezra!” Holly said despite Crowley’s warning hisses, “The scarf you made is so _ beautiful. _” 

Aziraphale brightened up and Crowley schooled his own face. 

“I was inspired, of course, by yours my dear,” he replied. 

“I was just asking Tony—I mean _ A.J.— _if he thinks you’d make one for me,” she said. 

“You’re next on my list, my dear,” Aziraphale held out his card. 

As Holly took it she screamed silently in Crowley’s direction.

“You’re next on _ my _list too,” he hissed quietly to her as he started making Aziraphale’s order. 

“I didn’t notice the necklace,” Holly said, “That’s pretty too.” 

Crowley clutched it defensively, though her tone was genuine. 

“Did Aziraphale make it?” she asked, slightly playful. 

“Yes,” he said, “So he knows what pronouns to use.” 

Crowley told Aziraphale that he didn’t really mind the he/him pronouns, and that was fine as the default, but regardless Aziraphale had gotten him a necklace with three little circular glass pendants he could switch out. 

He ran a thumb on the one he wore now, nervous as to how Holly might respond but refusing to look anything but nonchalant. 

“Oh?” she said, “How so?” 

“Red for he, black for she, white for they.” 

Holly’s eyes darted between Crowley’s eyes and the white pendant he was wearing. She smiled, and looked like she was about to speak, when Aziraphale piped up. 

“What are you two conspiring about back there?” 

“Just telling her about my necklace, angel.” 

“Oh, I hope it’s stylish enough for you,” Aziraphale said, “I thought it was nice.” 

“Looks very good on them,” Holly assured him, “_ Very _stylish. They’re lucky to know someone with such perfect fashion sense. A.J., take the register when you’re done will you? I need to use the bathroom.” 

She walked off to the back room, hanging up her apron as she went. 

“My dear,” Aziraphale said to Crowley while she was gone, “Holly’s been calling you A.J., would you like me to call you that?” 

Crowley paused to meet Aziraphale’s eye. 

“Why?” he said. 

“Well,” Aziraphale replied, voice low, “I want to make sure I… speak to and about you in the ways in which you’d like.” 

Crowley smiled. 

“No, angel,” Crowley said, “I chose Crowley, still choose Crowley.” 

“Then that’s what I’ll call you until that’s no longer who you want to be,” Aziraphale said. 

“Thanks,” Crowley said, “And uh… you’re looking great today. Ethereal, even.”

Crowley finished up his now signature angel wings, a little lazier but more skillful, before he handed the drink to Aziraphale. With Aziraphale looking at him so cheerful, the itchiness of the hideous scarf digging at his neck, and the knowledge that he’d always have _ someone _who knew what this was like—he was euphoric.


	8. Birthdays (One Year)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (in which Crowley uses he/him pronouns)

“How does it feel to be one year old?”

The Them had video-chatted them occasionally throughout the year, but they made a big deal about all coming together to call on the one year anniversary of Anthony J Crowley and Ezra Fell. It was actually a bit before their birthday—right in between theirs and Adam’s, so they could celebrate both at once.

“Well we’re technically twenty-six,” Aziraphale replied, “Our  _ bodies _ are twenty-six.”

“Actually, you’ve technically only been people for one year,” Wensleydale said.

“Yeah, your bodies are only one,” Brian said. 

“Well we’re technically six thousand-odd years old, so who’s the idiot bastard now.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, scandalized, “You can’t say that to children.”

The Them were somehow unbothered.

“How was your birthday?” Crowley continued, “You’re what… nine now?”

“You know I’m thirteen.”

“First of all, I’m thirteen, so shut the fuck up,” Pepper mocked.

Pepper had recently gotten into memes, and Crowley knew just enough to know that she deserved an approving wink. Aziraphale did not.

“Miss Pepper,” he scolded. 

“Ms. Pepper,” she responded curtly, “The terms miss and missus are antiquated artifacts of a time in which women were considered property.”

“She’s got you there, angel.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips but knew when he was defeated. 

“Get into any trouble on your birthday this year?” Crowley said, “Anything to rival destroying the world?”

“Well,” Adam said, “We got Dog a new collar, and asked the new woman living at Anathema’s old house if she was a witch. And now we’re making an international call to America.”

“Yes, don’t your parents find that a bit strange?” Aziraphale said. 

“Oh, I just told them I was talking to my uncles,” Adam said, “I don’t have any uncles, but I guess I still have enough of my power that they just believed me.”

“You guess?” Crowley repeated, leaning in toward the screen, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I feel like it’s all… slipping away,” Adam said contemplatively, “Sometimes I forget the whole Armageddon thing was real. Like it was some kind of game.”

“Actually,” Wensleydale piped in, “I forgot it was real until you just mentioned it.”

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale worriedly, opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Ah, that must be Anathema,” Aziraphale said, “I’ll go get her.”

“It’s close to our bedtime anyway,” Adam said.

“Happy birthday!” Brian said, “Goodbye!”

“Goodbye, children,” Aziraphale responded, standing up to open the door.

Adam watched Wensleydale, Pepper, and Brian leave, then turned back to his camera.

“Uncle Anthony?” he said, “I mean. Crowley. I don’t… think I could turn you back.”

“What do you mean?” Crowley hissed, leaning in close so Aziraphale couldn’t hear as he greeted Anathema at the door.

“I can’t do much anymore,” Adam said softly, “And I keep forgetting things. I don’t think I’ll remember much longer. I’m sorry.”

Crowley stifled a curse. Somehow, over the course of a year, they had utterly forgotten their original goal: to come up with a plan and go back to their normal selves. How had they gotten so caught up in human things? 

Crowley took a deep breath.

“It’s not your fault, Adam,” Crowley said.

Adam shifted uncomfortably.

“I feel like it is,” he admitted, “I feel like it’s happening because… I  _ want  _ it to. I don’t want to think about what I did to my friends. What I almost did to the world. I don’t want it to be true. I don’t want to remember. And the more I forget, the less of my powers I can use.”

Crowley took a moment to gather himself. This was something he would process later. Not in front of the kid.

“Don’t worry about it, Adam,” he said blankly, “We’ll figure something out. And before you forget completely, just know that you were an absolutely terrific antichrist.”

Adam grinned.

“Well, considering the world didn’t end, I think I was pretty shoddy,” Adam replied, “But then again, that would make you not a very good demon.”

Crowley looked at him fondly. He was about to speak, but Adam’s mother called him from the next room. At the same time, Anathema and Aziraphale approached the laptop.

“Hey Adam,” Anathema said, “Happy birthday.”

“Hi Anathema!” Adam replied, “I’ve got to go. Goodbye!”

With that he was gone, and Crowley let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Crowley, my dear, you look positively dreary,” Aziraphale said, “Whatever is the matter?”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale. He couldn’t believe what he had gotten them into. They’d never get to be themselves again. Aziraphale would never get to be an angel again. In sixty years or so they’d die, very likely sooner than they would have if they had just stayed as they were. Crowley thought of telling Aziraphale, who was peering at him with concern, but he just couldn’t.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” he said finally.

“Your face, my dear.”

“S’my ordinary face, angel. Anyhow, good evening, Anathema.”

“Hey Crowley,” Anathema said, “Happy birthday. Oh! I brought these.”

Anathema held up three bottles of wine.

“Oh, _ fantastic _ ,” Crowley said.

~

They had chatted with Anathema much  _ more  _ often than the Them. She continued checking in on them after she left them nearly a year ago, very diligently keeping up with their needs, and in return she told them of the wonderful time she was having with Newt in London. When she suggested—rather last minute—that she could travel (alone) to see them, they were surprised but had heartily agreed.

“So how long are you staying? Aziraphale asked.

They were sitting together at the table. There were only two chairs, so Anathema elected to sit on the edge of the table, propped up on one wrist.

“For… the foreseeable future, actually,” Anathema responded.

“What about Newt?”

Anathema stared into her wine glass. Crowley hadn’t noticed until just then, but while he and Aziraphale had only taken a few sips out of their wine, Anathema’s was empty. She poured herself a new one and drank it all in one go.

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, “I see.”

“What happened?” Crowley asked.

“Well, seems like computers aren’t the only Device he couldn’t handle,” she replied dryly, “He ended up having some…  _ opinions _ , let’s put it. He didn’t like my… I don’t know. On our anniversary, I realized… it just wasn’t working.”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale said, place his hand on hers, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she replied, “It was for the best. Now, tell me about your year.”

~

In an attempt to pour what was only his third glass, Crowley had spilled a little on the floor. Anathema and Aziraphale both giggled at each other.

“Oh Crowley, do be careful,” Aziraphale slurred.

“S’hardly a drop!” Crowley protested.

“It’s our dear Anathema’s fine gift.”

“Oh shut it, angel.”

“Am I now?” Aziraphale said, pouring from a bottle he thought still contained wine but was, in fact, empty.

“Are you what?” Crowley asked.

“An angel!” Aziraphale said, giggling again and not noticing as Anathema gently removed the empty bottle from his grasp. He seemed to feel the idea, or some idea in his mind, to be immensely funny. 

“Yes…” Crowley said softly.

Aziraphale was still giggling to himself, and didn’t seem to hear.

“Yes… of course…”

Crowley didn’t seem to hear himself either. Anathema did, smile fading from her lips, head turning towards Crowley slightly as he mumbled on.

“Yes… angel… my angel…”

~

Crowley and Aziraphale turned out to be much worse at drinking alcohol while human than ever before. Aziraphale had a grand time, but passed out somewhere during his fifth glass. Crowley wasn’t far behind.

“Havn’ really... had any alcohol while we’ve been… human,” Crowley slurred.

“It shows,” Anathema said.

They both burst out into raucous laughter, which they both knew wasn’t very merited, but they couldn’t help themselves. This was followed by a length of silence, as they both stared into their respective glasses.

“Sorry ‘bout you and… Mister Pulsifer.”

Anathema shrugged and took another mindless sip.

“What I told you earlier was…” she began, “Well, it was mostly true. But I think I also sabotaged it? You know? I didn’t want to be the one to leave, because he hadn’t done anything wrong, but… I felt like I was only with him because Agnes told me it would be like that. Didn’t wanna feel like that anymore. Our relationship was  _ one year old,  _ but it was also… so much older than that. So worn out before it could truly begin.

“So I felt like I had to push him away. So I could finally be free.”

“And… are you free?”

Anathema laughed shallowly.

“Oh hell yeah,” she said, “Pretty sure I’m a lesbian anyway.”

“Well, that would certainly make your relationship with Newt a difficult one.”

Anathema sighed.

“I just want someone who makes me feel like I can make my own choices,” Anathema said, “I want someone who will help me grow, help me become a… a better version of myself. I want to feel like I’m fighting fate just by being with her. Pushing the universe in a different direction, a better direction. That’s love. That’s what I want.”

Crowley found his gaze drifting towards Aziraphale as she spoke.  _ Someone who makes me feel like I can make my own choices _ , he thought,  _ fighting fate _ . How long had Aziraphale made him feel that way? How much longer would he be able to feel that way, as the years marched onward and as they did so wore slowly at them until their deaths…

“You love him, don’t you?”

At first he thought the question had come from his own mind, but then he saw Anathema waiting expectantly for an answer. But he couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it, not in that state.

“Adam doesn’t think he can turn us back,” Crowley said instead, dragging his gaze back to Anathema, “We’re going to be humans until we die, and that’s my fault.”

“Wha— what do you…”

“One year of being the Antichrist was too much for that boy,” he said, “One year and he couldn’t handle it. And how would we have expected him to? One year as the Antichrist is more responsibility than any human should bear.

“And one year as a human… is just the  _ beginning  _ for us.”

Anathema was silent as the tears began to fall from his face. 

“Aziraphale was an angel of the Lord,” he said, “Surely She would have protected him, in the end. How could She not? In the end his righteousness would have saved him, would have protected him from the hellfire. But me?”

“Crowley…”

“Maybe that’s why I did it. I knew I was going to die, and I… I didn’t want to go at it alone. Sure seems like the kind of thing a demon would do.”

“You were trying to protect him,” Anathema argued, “I know your aura well enough, and I saw how you felt that day. You were worried about him. There was nothing remotely self-serving about it.”

“Of course it was self-serving, everything I do--”

His voice had raised slightly and Aziraphale shifted in his seat, making a small noise in the back of his throat. Crowley stared, more fondness tinting his features than he would ever allow under any different circumstances.

“What do I do,” Crowley said softly.

“Well first, you should tell him,” Anathema said, “He deserves to know, so that he can spend the rest of his life knowing what’s to come.”

“Can’t we just… try to figure out a way to fix it?” Crowley said, “You’re a witch, surely you could find something.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “Either way, you’ll need to tell him eventually. Sooner rather than later.”

Crowley rested his face in his hands for a long while.

“I’m gonna head out,” Anathema said after considerable silence, “It’s getting late and I need to call a lyft.”

“Ah, yeah. I’d offer you to stay, but…”

“No, no worries.”

“I should get Aziraphale to sleep, anyway.”

Anathema stood, and Crowley followed her to the door.

“I’ll be around,” Anathema said, “We’ll figure this out.”

“Yeah. For sure.”

“Do demons hug?’ Anathema said at the door.

Crowley regarded her for a moment. It wasn’t a question he expected, especially coming from her, but he supposed she was quite a bit tipsy.

“Starting recently,” Crowley said, “This one does.”

They embraced briefly before Anathema said her goodbyes and left. Crowley managed to drag Aziraphale to the mattress—he woke a little halfway through, protesting Crowley’s help, but was asleep again before he hit the mattress. Crowley turned out the light and laid beside Aziraphale.

“Happy birthday, angel,” he said, leaning over to kiss Aziraphale on the forehead before laying back down to sleep.

~

Crowley was wiping down the table idly when the bell above the door opened and a familiar figure walked in.

“Anathema,” Crowley said, “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Thought I’d visit,” Anathema said, “Thought that perhaps Aziraphale would be here too?”

“You missed him,” Crowley replied, “He usually only stays for an hour or so, and then he goes to work.”

“Well then, after this I’ll stop by his nursery.”

“I get off in an hour,” Crowley said, “If you’re willing to wait that long, I’ll walk you there.”

Before Anathema could respond, Holly pulled forward next to Crowley.

“A.J.,” she said, staring at Anathema, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Ah. Holly, this is Anathema. Anathema, Holly.”

Holly stuck out her hand with a grin, and Anathema took it gingerly.

“Wonderful to meet you,” Holly said, “Didn’t know A.J. had any friends, other than Ezra. You have such  _ pretty  _ friends, A.J., how do you manage it?”

Anathema blushed. 

“Shut up, Holly.”

“Can I get anything for you… Anathema, was it?”

“Uh… yes please,” Anathema replied, “Just small black tea.”

She held out her credit card. 

“Excellent,” Holly said, swiping it and handing it back, “A.J. will have that right up for you.”

“Thank you,” Anathema said quietly.

“What’s that book you’re reading?” Holly asked before Anathema could escape.

“Ah,” Anathema replied, “It’s called Midnight Robber.”

“Nalo Hopkinson!” Holly said, “I love her.”

“I’ve been on a bit of a scifi-fantasy kick,” Anathema admitted. 

“Have you read The New Moon’s Arms? That one’s my favorite.”

“No, this is my first,” Anathema said.

“Well, if you’d like, I can lend you my copy some time,” Holly said.

“I’d… really like that.”

“Anathema!” Crowley interjected, “Your tea.”

“Oh. Thank you,” she said, “And, thank you, Holly.”

Anathema took her tea and sat by the window, opening her book.

“She has good taste,” Holly said, “And a good tipper!”

“Stop flirting with my friends, Holly.”

“I don’t flirt with Ezra!”

Crowley looked at her doubtfully.

“I don’t  _ seriously  _ flirt with Ezra,” Holly said, “I just do it to annoy you.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. 


End file.
